


Everything I never knew I ever needed.

by Cassidy (otpoverload)



Category: One Direction
Genre: I'm really sorry, Idk what i'm doing, M/M, Maybe a little angst, One Direction without Harry, SO SORRY, happy endings i think, help me, obviously my sailor's tongue has slipped in to this and i apologize again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otpoverload/pseuds/Cassidy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s waiting for it all to start and Louis’ wondering when it will all end. They don’t really realize they need each other until they finally do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything I never knew I ever needed.

**Author's Note:**

> i've never actually written a fic before but i was really bored and this kind of just happened. it's really rough and i did the editing myself at three am this morning so god help whoever has to read this crap.
> 
> give me love: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHlsbvzE-cU

Harry’s bored.

He’d clocked into work at roughly midnight, hoping for a bit of a fun day (nothing of that sort ever happens around here, obviously), but just one hour in Harry can tell that this clearly isn't going to be the case.

You see, his job is a bit _weird_. He works as an over-the-phone psychic, sitting at his desk from twelve midnight to twelve afternoon. People call in and ask him ridiculous questions about their future and he gives even more ridiculous answers in response. These people cling on to his each and every word like he’s the second coming of Christ, like he can just magically spur up their futures in his mind and replay them off the tip of his tongue - crystal ball and all.

All they're really paying 99p a minute for is complete and utter _bullshit._

There was a time six months back when he enjoyed taking on this job, when he enjoyed messing with people’s minds. And now? Now he finds himself clinging to his own false hope that maybe, one of these days, he’ll find a better job than the one he has at this shithole.

Probably not, though. He’s lucky to have this job as is, having not bothered to finish his schooling when he went out for the X Factor.                              

And finished in second place.

Not much comes to solo artists who finish in second. People forget your existence, tagging on to the following of whoever came out number one.

In this case, it was One Direction. Oh, how he despises the name. The cruel set of four who crushed his dreams and took first place from his sixteen-year-old hands. Unfortunately, they weren’t actually cruel. They were just four boys like him, living their dreams.

Or, in Harry’s case, _trying_ to.

Now, three years later, One Direction have made it big and Harry’s dreams of being a musician are just that - _dreams._

Harry remembers one of his callers from last week asking if she would be getting One Direction concert tickets for her birthday (apparently they now had a sold out _stadium_ tour - Harry all but lost his breakfast right then and there). He’d come up with some bullshit that the entire band was going to show up at her school (turns out she was only fifteen) and serenade her with their hit single “What Makes You Beautiful,” and of course, she was going to get _personally_ invited to their concert.       

Harry’s ears are still ringing from the inhuman screech she had made, just before her dad had caught her using the phone to call “strange, old men” and ordered her to hang-up the phone.

And at nineteen, he kind of _is_ feeling a bit old. He finds himself counting the days until he’s able to take his next vacation day. He’s paying bills and buying his own groceries, and the longest relationship he’s managed to maintain is with his (bitchy) cat, Boo. Harry’s life is the kind that belongs in a Nicholas Sparks novel, just waiting for somebody to come along and save him and make his life whole and complete and _interesting._

For now, though, he just wants to get through today.

 

-*-

 

The clock on Harry’s desk finally strikes twelve and an overwhelming sense of freedom washes over him (and for a second there he forgets that this is only Monday and he’s got four more days of this shit). He slips the headset off of his head and stretches, his back groaning and cracking with exhaustion. 

He really is getting old.

He’s almost made it to his car, a 1964 Thunderbird which his stepdad had graciously gifted him for his eighteenth birthday last February, before Ed’s hoarse voice is calling out to him.

“Harry! Wait up a second,” Ed’s jogging across the lot, and Harry almost laughs at the sight. His ginger hair is glinting madly in the light and the guitar case lazily strung over his back is threatening to fall apart at any second. Harry knows it won’t though. He’d just duct-taped that thing back together for Ed last week during one of their quieter work days. Two rolls and two hours later, it was as good as new.

Sort-of.

“Ed, you don’t sound too great, mate,” Harry comments when he’s close, bent double and sounding like he’s just run a marathon. “Got a bit of that flu going around?”

Ed nods, frowning heavily, “It right sucks, but I’m getting by I s’pose. Was wondering if you’d do me a favor and take over my set tonight? Don’t want Nick having a freak-out on me again,” and Harry nods because, yeah, he knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of one of Nick’s “freak-outs.” He wouldn’t even wish that on his worst enemy.

He nods, “You playing the usual?”

The usual is, usually, one or two original songs and whatever covers come to mind during the designated sixty-minute time slot.

“I wrote a new piece actually, was hoping you’d sing it for me tonight?” and seriously, when has Harry ever said no to Ed Sheeran? (although there was that one time when Ed had dared him to go to his crush’s birthday party back when they were ten and stupid  in just his boxers and Harry had _almost_ said no, had come _so_ close. obviously, he had done it anyway.)

“ _Sure.”_

 

_-*-_

 

Harry spends the next few hours before his set at home on his laptop, skimming through his Facebook newsfeed, listening and singing along with the demo Ed had given him before leaving. The song is slow and beautiful and so _Ed._ He really, really likes it, so much he’s thought about saying “No give-backsies when Ed asks for it back. Harry’s praying that he won’t.

Facebook is the usual sort of drama, “he cheated on me,” and “selfie monday - no makeup!11!” or his favorite, “why don’t you just tag me in this status ‘cause I know it’s about me, bitch.”

There’s nothing more uplifting than hormonal girls going at each other on Facebook. It makes his life just a bit more interesting, and as sad as it is, this is probably going to be the most exciting thing to happen to him today.

He sighs, shutting his laptop, seeing that he has two hours left until he has to be at the pub. He still needs to shower and feed himself, and of course, tend to his ever-pregnant cat.

“Boo, where are you baby?” Harry calls out into his flat as if the cat is going to magically become human and tell him where she is.

Harry sighs and gets up to begin the quest to find his slightly psychotic cat - only to have his foot get caught in the sheets, his body tumbling face first into the carpet. He can hear Ed’s voice in his ear, laughing about his clumsiness and lack of control over his gangly legs. _Idiot._

The flat has gone eerily quiet, the sounds of his feet the only thing resounding throughout the small area. “Boo, baby, where are you?”

Seemingly giving up for the time being, he shoves a frozen pizza into the oven and sets off for the shower. He hums a bit to the tune of the song he’s going to sing tonight, a little ditzy Ed had called “Give Me Love,” turning the shower on scalding hot. He’s just about to get in before he notices something atop his dirty laundry pile (which really, really needs done).

“Boo, is that - oh _god,”_ The cat is currently licking it’s crotch, which is really kind of gross and all but that’s not even the worst of it. There’s a lot of blood and weirdly moving fuzzy balls and oh _shit_ his cat has given birth on his favorite Ramones t-shirt.

“Boo, could this not have _waited?”_ And his cat hisses in response, not even bothering to look up from her bloody downtown area. _Bitch._

Harry manages to move her into a laundry basket with a towel underneath, but not without sacrificing a few bits of skin to her claws and, ya’ know, his _sanity._

He finishes at 5:43 and it’s a ten minute drive to the pub (if traffic's not bad) and he hasn’t even showered yet and _fuck_ he’s just remembered he left the pizza in the oven.

“Nick,” Harry’s saying in to the phone, dumping the blackened pizza in to the garbage can, “It’s Harry. I’m uh, gonna be about fifteen minutes late an-” He’s cut off by Nick’s yelling and whatnot and he just waits until he’s done with his rant with a resigned sigh. He’s kind of used to it by now.

He makes it to the pub at 6:14 and Nick is practically seething in his seat at the DJ’s booth, introducing Harry on stage (although the introduction isn’t really needed, everybody knows him here) with quite a bit of anger, giving him no time to explain his tardiness. His body is still a bit damp and he hasn’t warmed up, but he goes on anyway.

“Hey guys, sorry for holding you up. My cat decided today was going to be a good day to give birth, and who am I to argue with that?” The crowd, seemingly pleasant and subdued for the six o’clock show, laughs along with him. Harry can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as he slings his guitar over his shoulder.

“I know Ed usually does the six o’clock show but he was feeling a bit under the weather so I told him I’d take his place. If it makes you guys feel any better, you can picture me as that big, soppy ginger. We’re going to start off with a well-known song by Ed. Here’s “The A-Team.”

And the crowd goes wild.

 

-*-

 

“Louis, Liam, over here!”

“What does it feel like being the number one boy band in the world?”

“I love you guys! Have my babies!”

Louis tries to ignore the paparazzi and fans as he makes his way through the mob, his hand clenched tightly around his security guard’s wrist and his breathing laboured. This isn’t the first time he’s been mobbed like this, but he certainly will never get used to this feeling. The feeling of being bombarded and pushed and squeezed and pinched to the point of not being able to even _think._

He has to remind himself that _this is what we’ve worked for_ , and that _I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else_ , but when he’s finally tucked away in his hotel room later that night, Louis can’t help but wonder if this is really what he wants.

He falls asleep to the sound of his many fans singing one of their songs outside of his hotel room window.

It’s a typical Sunday night for One Direction.

 

-*-

 

It’s Monday and nothing is on One Direction’s schedule for the day. Louis’ managed to sleep until nearly three o'clock before Liam’s banging on his door yelling at him to get his big ass out of bed (and for the record, his ass is _not_ big, it’s the perfect size). saying that they were all going out at five whether he was ready or not.

“I’m up, you dick. Sod off,” He grumbles, moving from the giant hotel bed and straight to the shower. He can still feel all of the hands from last night on his skin. It’s pretty bad.

He starts to nod off under the hot water, before jolting awake when it suddenly runs ice cold. “ _Shitfuckdamntits,”_ He shouts, doing a leap out of the shower that Niall would be proud of. He quickly grabs for the fuzzy robe he’d spotted on the way in and lets out an exhausted sigh.

Today is _not_ going to be his day.

At ten minutes 'til five Louis has just finished tugging his converse on when Zayn comes banging at his door. “Liam’s getting pissed Lou, are you ready to go?” Louis scoffs, pulling the door open to reveal Zayn, perfect quiff and all. “It isn’t even five yet Zayn, tell your boyfriend to _chill._ ”

Zayn has the audacity to blush and brush past him, entering the lift at the end of their hall. “You know how he gets.” And that’s the damn truth, because yes, after three years Louis _does_ know how Liam gets. Liam’s a perfectionist, striving to make everything as perfect as he himself is.

Sucks for him because Louis is everything _but_ perfect. Zayn, though, he’s pretty damn close.

That’s probably why they’re dating.

Although they may not be _out_ and dating, Louis is still jealous of the relationship Liam and Zayn have. It’s sweet and genuine and they’re always together because, _hello,_ they’re kind of touring the world together. It’s even worse because the fans _ship_ them together. They write stories and come up with theories and the whole thing is kind of _amazing._

Louis sometimes wishes he had everything they had.

The ride to the lobby is silent, Zayn probably thinking about Liam and Louis just being, well, _Louis._ They make a quick exit to their awaiting cars, just a few fans patiently waiting outside to meet them. Louis grabs ahold of as many hands as possible, only able to stop for a few pictures and a few autographs. He feels bad, but with security pressing at his back and shouting in his ears to “get in the damn car” there’s not much else he can do. Their fans will understand.

The car ride is filled with Niall complaining about the lack of alcohol in his system and Liam and Zayn fonding at each other. It suddenly occurs to him that he doesn’t even know where they’re going.

“So, lads, where is it that we’re heading off to?”

Niall laughs like Louis just said the funniest thing in the world and Liam lets out an indignant sigh before answering, “Little pub in the city. Nick Grimshaw does the music there, says nobody will find us,” and Louis scrunches up his nose because he absolutely _despises_ Nick for _reasons._

Liam chooses to ignore his obvious distaste.

The ride is short and they get there just after five, immediately being pulled into a hug with Nick. Or, at least, the other three are. Louis chooses to watch from the side.

They get a booth and chat until fifteen ‘til six when Nick finally decides to go back to the DJ table to “make some announcements.” Louis had snorted a goodbye and Liam had kicked his shin under the table, giving him the stink eye.

Louis chose the mature route of handling it and gave Liam the finger. At least Niall thought their exchange was funny, his shoulders shaking with contained laughter.

Louis decides that Niall is definitely his favorite.

Nick’s voice comes over the loudspeaker, quieting the small building for just a few seconds before everybody starts chattering again.

“Hey guys, I know it’s almost six and you’re all probably wondering where Ed is. He’s feeling a bit sick, so we have an awesome replacement act, somebody you all know and love...” and they all tune out Nick’s voice (which Louis thinks is definitely the most annoying thing in this world), going back to their own conversation (which consists of debating whether they should get pizza or Chinese takeaway for dinner - obviously it’s a pretty important matter). Louis is definitely thinking pizza.

At fifteen after six, a new voice rings out across the pub, causing a few shouts and cheers to erupt. They all simultaneously look up, being met head-on with a serious case of nostalgia.

“Is that -?” Liam starts before Zayn is finishing his sentence, “Harry Styles?”

Louis jaw is practically on the floor and Niall has, obviously, burst into a fit of giggles.

Of course they all remember _Harry Styles._ They’d almost been beat by him three years back on the X Factor. _Almost_ was actually an understatement. Simon, their manager and mentor at the time, had said they had won the competition by less than a hundred votes.

Harry was a solo-act and just a mere sixteen at the time (practically a baby), and Louis would be lying if he were to say that he hadn’t envied the kid a little bit. He had so much talent and heart back then - everybody had loved him. Louis may have even had a small, small crush on him. Which was kind of weird considering the three year age gap. He swears he's over it, depite the adrenaline running through his veins at seeing him again and the full feeling of his heart.

After they’d won and Harry had finished in second, Harry had kind of fallen off the face of the Earth. Simon had looked for him, had wanted to add him as a potential fifth member of the band, but the kid had literally _disappeared._

Now, three years later he was obviously not the kid who they’d left behind on the X Factor stage. No, this was a _man._ Harry had his trademark curls styled in an impressive quiff, his skin tan and clear in comparison to the pale, pimple-ridden skin he’d had three years back. A plaid button-up adorned his chest, the first five or six unbuttoned, showing off his tattoo-littered chest. And his legs were _long_ and his body so _lean_ and wow, Louis is definitely drooling a bit.

The tall man bumbled around on stage a bit, yelling something at Nick and laughing to himself before settling in front of the microphone, “Hey guys, sorry for holding you up. My cat decided today was going to be a good day to give birth, and who am I to argue with that?”

Louis groaned in his seat, throwing his head against the back of the booth because this is so _not_ fair. Not only was his face like, perfect or whatever, but so was his _voice._ It was deep and slow and smooth, practically _sex_ for your ears. Louis really hates Harry right now, thinks he probably hates himself a little more for the butterflies in his stomach.

“I know Ed usually does the six o’clock show but he was feeling a bit under the weather so I told him I’d take his place. If it makes you guys feel any better, you can picture me as that big, soppy ginger. We’re going to start off with a well-known song by Ed. Here’s ‘The A-Team.’”

All four boys are sitting on the edges of their seats, watching their former competitor settle the guitar across his lap, apprehension on all of their faces. The people around them must know the song, because they immediately start cheering for Harry, and a slow grin spreads across his face.

Louis watches him close his eyes and start to strum the guitar, a mutual silence spreading across the pub. People have set down their drinks and their conversations have halted and Louis thinks the lights may have dimmed a bit. He’s not entirely sure though, not entirely sure he even remembers how to _breathe_ right now because beautiful sounds are coming out of Harry's pink mouth and he thinks he's in love with the figure before him.

_White lips, pale face_

_Breathing in snowflakes_

_Burnt lungs, sour taste_

And it seems like time stops as Harry spews heart-wrenching, emotion filled words across the pub. Louis guesses Harry knows the sad meaning behind the song, can almost see the story playing out behind his eyelids. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful to witness.

Louis doesn’t even realize the song has ended until the patrons around him start shouting and clapping from their seats, and it seems the other three members of One Direction are in a bit of a state as well, because they all just meet eyes across the table and a mutual feeling settles around them.

This definitely is not the boy they left behind at the X Factor.

They listen and watch quietly as Harry speeds through some covers, playing a bit of everything before he comes to the final song in his set.

Harry clears his throat, his voice already sounding a bit raw and scratchy. Louis wonders absent-mindedly if he had bothered to warm-up before coming on stage.

“This is a new song Ed wrote called ‘Give Me Love.’ Hope you all like it as much as I do.”

The song starts off slow and sweet, sad and smooth. Whoever this Ed individual is, he definitely deserves a medal for these lyrical masterpieces he’s concocted.

_Give me love like her,_

_'Cause lately I've been waking up alone,_

_Pain splattered teardrops on my shirt,_

_Told you I'd let them go,_

Harry’s voice is slightly raspy, his heart pouring out through the lyrics. Louis watches his face morph with the song, his obvious love for performing and music as evident as ever. Louis had always been jealous of Harry’s natural affinity for this, pretty sure that _everybody_ on the show had been jealous. He was carefree and beautiful, his heart big and his lungs even bigger.

_Give a little time to me or burn this out,_

_We'll play hide and seek to turn this around,_

_All I want is the taste that your lips allow,_

_My, my, my, my, oh give me love_

The song ended just as soon as it started and Harry bounded off the stage, smacking hands with a few people before running over to Nick. Harry threw his hands around Nick’s neck and for some very odd reason, Louis felt a surge of jealousy run through him.

“Wow,” Liam had said, bringing Louis’ focus back to the table. “He’s fucking brilliant.” Zayn nodded, scooting closer to his boyfriend, “Had always been proper talented. Wonder what he’s up to these days?”

Louis stayed quiet as the other three slowly backed away from the topic of Harry and started talking about a single they were due to start recording soon, choosing to instead focus on his Twitter feed, following and tweeting a few fans out of boredom.

He’d just been about to start a game of Angry Birds when Nick bounces over to them, Harry in tow.

“You guys have obviously met before. I’m going to leave this one under your watch for awhile while I finish some stuff - keep him away from the alcohol,” Nick says before pressing a blushing Harry into the booth next to Niall without introduction.

Louis can tell it’s going to be a long, long night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to leave me some criticisms in the comments or whatever.
> 
> if you made it through this, i kind of love you (but pity you at the same time)
> 
> thank youuuuuuuuu x


End file.
